


Now that the War is Through with Me

by gypsydancergirl (hauntedlittledoll)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, Gen, Random Musical References for the Win
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-08
Updated: 2011-07-08
Packaged: 2017-11-14 05:11:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hauntedlittledoll/pseuds/gypsydancergirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The archangel keeps coming back, and the Harvelles just don't turn him away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now that the War is Through with Me

**Author's Note:**

> Title borrowed from the lyrics of "One" by Metallica.
> 
> Written for owleyes_arisen's prompt: "Supernatural, Gabriel, Ellen, Jo, (Castiel, Winchesters?), Gabriel brings the Harvelles back to life. They adopt him (in much the same manner that Dean and Sam adopted Castiel as a sort-of-family member)."

Jo Harvelle saw nothing of heaven and nothing of hell.  Her death was like a moment of darkness as her eyes slid shut, and her resurrection was their simple opening.

It could have been an instant of time.  It could have been eternity.

Jo had closed her eyes in the tiny store, wrapped in her mother’s arms as she bled out . . . ready to sacrifice herself to save the world.

When she opened them again, she was standing in a patch of cleared earth before a short man wearing ordinary clothes and an intense look of concentration.

He clearly wasn’t one of the Winchesters, and Jo opted for the ‘strike first, ask questions later’ approach.

It was like hitting a brick wall.

The shattering of bone didn’t even phase whatever it was—probably because it was Jo’s hand and not his face that took the brunt of the blow.

Jo curled around her broken hand, blinking away the tears of sharp sudden pain.  She didn’t even realize that she was cursing a blue streak until the thing jerked and glared at her coldly.

“Do I sit around calling your father names?” he griped.

Jo stared at him.  Huffing, the man reached out to grab her wrist.  Jo fought against the grip, but she would have had better luck with steel handcuffs than this guy’s hold.

“Are all humans this stubborn or do I attract the really mule-headed ones?” he asked the sky rhetorically.  He let go, and Jo flexed her healed fingers cautiously.  “Now shut up and sit still.”

Jo suddenly found herself on her ass a few feet away.

“Who are you?”

The man ignored her.  Jo was not in the habit of being ignored.  Rocking to her feet, Jo approached the man . . . no, the angel . . . with a steadfast determination.

“I asked you a question,” she insisted, raising her voice.  “Who are you?”

With a snap of his fingers, she found herself seated once more.  Only this time, she was stuck fast, and Jo grabbed a handful of dirt to throw at her captor.  It was worse than useless, but the only weapon that she had on hand.  The spray of dirt didn’t even get the angel’s attention.

“I said: Who are you?!” she shouted, even as her mind worked towards a half-forgotten memory of listening to the Winchesters’ tall tales.

The man turned and just looked at her.  He didn’t glare.  He didn’t scowl.  He didn’t so much as frown.  He just looked at her, powerful and ancient and calm.  He was so much like Castiel, only golden-eyed and better-costumed.  Only powerful.

“I told you to be quiet.”

Which were not the exact words that he had used, but Jo was willing to let that go under his direct gaze.

Swallowing, Jo asked quietly: “Who are you?”

The angel looked down, suddenly fascinated by his boots and the barren earth beneath his feet.  “They call me Gabriel.”

“Oh.”  Jo stared, as the pieces slid into place.  He didn’t look like an archangel.  She supposed that didn’t exactly matter.  “Oh.”  And a breath later:  “Where’s my mother?”

He threw up his hand in exaggerated—forced—irritation.  “I’m working on it.”

Jo shut her mouth with an audible collision of teeth.

The angel . . . Gabriel . . . looked up at her again, one eyebrow raised.  “Satisfied?”

Jo nodded.

He took a step back again, and Jo could only watch, folding her arms around herself tightly.  Gabriel didn’t seem to be doing much of anything.  He stood there, arms at his side and head bowed ever so slightly, eyes closed.  A breeze ruffled his whiskey-colored hair, but the angel didn’t stir.

And then somewhere between one blink and the next, her mother stood in front of him.  Jo choked on air for half a second as her mother tensed.

It was apparent that Gabriel learned quickly, as he ducked Ellen’s first punch neatly.  Ellen, unfortunately for the archangel, followed with a second, and the ensuing broken hand didn’t stop her from demanding, “Where’s my daughter?”

Gabriel pointed behind her, and that was Jo’s cue to throw herself into her mother’s arms, as a brief but terrible fear was laid to rest.  Her mother was here, alive.  Not dead because of Jo’s foolish mistake and a heroic gesture.

Jo isn’t sure how long she had clung to her mother, not-crying and desperately, ridiculously happy.  She wasn’t sure what Gabriel did during that small eternity, but she did hear him grumbling right before he took her mother’s hand in his own.

“Like mother like daughter, huh?”

And they were.  They really were.

Jo stepped back, squeezing her mom’s shoulder briefly before gesturing broadly.  “Mom, this is,” a hysterical giggle escaped Jo, “Gabriel.  The archangel.”

Ellen pulled her newly-healed hand out of the angel’s grasp, staring at Gabriel with a hard look of indecision.  Then she held out her hand again for a proper handshake.  “Ellen Harvelle.”

Gabriel took her hand slowly, and shook it once as if sealing a deal . . . one that wouldn’t end in death and terror, Hell and the horrid sound of barking.

Jo waited, not sure for what, but she waited.

And then Gabriel looked away again, released Ellen, and took a step back.  “There’s a bar in town . . . thataway,” he pointed beyond them.  “It’s in your name, and should have enough to get you started.  I’ll be in touch.”

Gabriel walked away.  He didn’t just disappear.  He walked.

“Gabriel!” her mother called after him.  He paused.  “Gabriel,” Ellen repeated.  “Why?”

His shoulders slumped, and for a moment the archangel didn’t answer.   When he finally did, Jo had to strain in order to catch it.

“You weren’t the only ones forgotten when the world didn’t end.”

* * *

Gabriel hadn’t mentioned that the bar was the Roadhouse.  It was an exact replica down to the sign on Ash’s door and the clothes in the washing machine when Ellen had left that morning . . . four years ago according to the newspaper on the counter.  That newspaper and the economy size bag of pretzels on the counter were the only additions to the bar stolen through time and across states.

Ellen ran her hand along the shotgun she kept behind the bar as Jo inspected her childhood room upstairs—still completely intact.  The women half-expected Ash to reappear, but he didn’t.

At this point, Ellen suspected that there was only one thing to do.  Wiping her hands off on her jeans, she stepped out from behind the bar and began to haul chairs off the tables.

Jo stepped out from the back, already tying on her apron as she moved to join Ellen.

And it was quietly, but efficiently, that the Harvelle women opened the Roadhouse once more.

* * *

David Gideon used to be a man of the cloth.  Ellen would bet her life on it.

But that wasn’t the man now . . . the one who set up camp in Ash’s old room and tended bar like a gentle bear.  He wouldn’t have nonsense inside these four walls, and had booted more than one drunk out the door for a sloppy pass made at Jo, but David was a quiet man who listened far more than he talked, and Ellen wasn’t sure what she would do without his sturdy and reliable ways to fall back on when the Harvelle women were called away on a hunt.

He’d been confused, but calm when Gabriel led him into the dim bar just six days after Jo and Ellen had settled in.  Though he towered over Gabriel, he’d been content to let the smaller man shepherd him inside, guide him to the bar, and settle him on the first stool with only a meager bundle of possessions beside him.

Gabriel had calmly stepped behind the bar, ducked Jo’s tray, and took Ellen’s place without so much as a by-your-leave.  While Gabriel bantered easily with Jo, Ellen found herself sitting down next to the stranger and sharing a drink.  She didn’t think that David had said four words that night, nothing more than pleasantries, but she had a bartender the next night, and Gabriel was gone again.

. . . What Ellen knew about David Gideon could be counted on one hand.

What Jo was teaching their suspected-minister was something else entirely . . .

David Gideon would read anything you put in his hands, and the notes he took were a thing of beauty.  His fine even penmanship was good enough to hang up, and his analysis of ancient texts was always clear and concise—always bulleted like a Sunday sermon.

There was more than one kind of hunter, and David Gideon would be the type to outlive the Harvelles and Winchesters both.

* * *

It was four months to the day of their resurrection, when Gabriel fell out of nowhere, just landing abruptly on the pool table with an unconscious human folded in badly-rumpled wings.

It took a few seconds . . . just a few where Jo honestly wondered if either of them were alive . . . before Gabriel blinked a few times, took a deep unnecessary breath and handed off his burden to David.  Then Gabriel shook himself like a dog, folding wings and grace and power into his vessel, gazing around the bar full of shocked patrons and trigger-happy hunters, before golden eyes settled on Ellen in the back doorway.

“Hey, Mom, what’s for dinner?”

Ellen cuffed him upside the back of the head—carefully, always careful with hard-headed angels—and brushed him off, because sulfur and ash had a tendency to cling.  “I’m not your mother, and I’m sure not your cook.  You get upstairs and clean yourself off, Gabriel.  Get!”

Jo bit back her snicker, and went for the broom.

Sure enough, by the time the angel reappeared . . . freshly-showered, purified, whatever it is that angels do for the sake of sanitation . . . there was a basket of wings, a bag of chips, and a beer waiting for him. It turned out that the unconscious human’s name was Adam, and Gabriel had spent the last three weeks trying to liberate him from Hell.  From Lucifer’s cage.

Alone.

Ellen smacked Gabriel over the head with a wooden spoon, unsurprised and unrepentant when it snapped in half from the effort.

Gabriel stuck around for a while after that, which was good because Adam was jumpy.  Not in the easily excitable, I-just-watched-a-horror-movie-four-times, kind of jumpy.  More in the vein of petrified-of-my-own-shadow but too-stubborn-to-admit-it.

So it hadn’t surprised Ellen in the least to discover Adam was half-Winchester.  She put him to work washing dishes and sweeping floors at night, while Jo drilled him in guns, knives, and hand-to-hand during the day.

Gabriel occasionally added his own dramatic flair on the lessons, but Ellen had made all three clean up after the swamp monster by hand.

Lessons were ever-so-slightly more subdued after that.

As with all Winchesters, Adam brought conflict with him.  He and Ellen seemed to be permanently opposed on just about everything, but the biggest disagreement would send Jo and David into hiding every time it reared its ugly head.

Adam couldn’t be persuaded to contact either of his brothers, and the latest throw-down between him and Ellen was so furious that even Gabriel took cover until the shouting stopped.

As he sank into the grass next to Jo, she passed him her beer wordlessly.  “Surprised you escaped.  Mom’s almost more pissed at you than at him.”

That might have something to do with the fact that any attempt to dial either Winchester and/or Bobby Singer resulted in a call to the local pizza place.  Gabriel’s quiet support had him in the doghouse for the foreseeable future.

Gabriel took the beer, and leaned against the back of the Roadhouse.  The sun-warmed boards made a good backrest.  “She might get over it.”

Jo snorted.  “And vampires might take up tanning.  What else you got?”

Gabriel sighed heavily, and they were quiet for awhile.  Jo shifted enough to use the archangel’s thigh as a pillow, and Gabriel was reading something . . . Jo couldn’t quite make out the title upside down.

Eventually the yelling dwindled down, exploded sharply one last time, and then Adam slammed the door on his way past them.  Jo sighed and rolled to her feet, looking from Adam to the bar and then back to Adam.

“Tell ya what, Gabe . . . You take Mom, and I’ll handle Adam.”

“Traitor,” Gabriel rolled his eyes, but headed inside.

That left Jo with a stubborn Winchester on her hands.  It was just like old times.

* * *

Gabriel appeared directly behind Ellen at the bar.  Hunter instincts demanded that the woman stiffen before recognizing him, and once her twitchy fingers let go of the shotgun, Gabriel leaned back against the counter.

“You fix my phone right now, Gabriel,” Ellen ordered without turning around.

“I gotta give you credit, Ellen, ‘cause you’re got more guts than anything I’ve ever seen, but you’re beating your head against a brick wall here.”

The woman bristled, and Gabriel hastily snapped away the temptation offered by the shotgun.  No sense in wasting good ammunition.

“Those two boys might be dumber than a post, mule-headed, and magnets for trouble, but they’re family.  More important, they’re Adam’s family, and it doesn’t sit right, keeping this from ‘em.”

“I don’t think you’re wrong, Ellen.”

Ellen took a deep breath, but Gabriel beat her to it.

“This is just one of those things that has to be Adam’s decision.  He won’t give in, just because you manage to get Sam and Dean here.  He’ll just dig his heels in harder.”

Ellen gave him a hard look.  “Experience?”

“Puh-lease, I’ve watched every pop psychology show since they invented television.  Do I look like the type to go around getting hands-on experience when the idiot box will happily feed everything to me?”  Gabriel hopped up onto the bar, and began juggling shot glasses.  “I’ve got my immortal life to live.”  He softened, and passed her the glasses one-at-a-time.  “Give him time, ‘cause just between you, me, and the brick wall . . . my money’s on you.”

Ellen frowned at him.  “You let anyone get a word in edgewise, boy?”

“Not if I can help it,” Gabriel smirked, “But I’m sure that a woman like you knows how to handle me.”  He batted his eyes, and lowered his voice: “For the record, I’d be happy to let you spank me.”

“You’re some kind of angel,” Ellen shook her head bemusedly, letting the distraction stand, even if she wasn’t fooled a minute.  “I haven’t got anything hard enough to make an impact, or I just might.”

“I like a lady who speaks her mind,” Gabriel flashed a quick smile.

“It isn’t an easy thing to keep up.”

“You do just fine.”

* * *

Gabriel did manage to shock Ellen speechless eventually.  Appearing in the backroom where the older woman was doing inventory, Gabriel quietly slid a sleeping twelve year old into her lap and backed away.

Jo hadn’t seen her mother look that soft in a good long time.

“His name’s Jesse,” Gabriel whispered in her ear as they watched from the doorway.  “He was supposed to be the anti-Christ, and he ran away to become a surfer instead.”

“Way to go, kid,” Jo approved just as quietly.  She glanced up at their angel, knowingly.  “How long have you been looking for him?”

“Longer than the rest of you combined,” Gabriel admitted, and tugged her ponytail rather than let a moment develop.  “Kid’s got style.”

Jo snorted.  “Let’s hope he’s got taste too, since you missed that bus.”

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed, and Jo ducked away to help David and Adam close up.  It wouldn’t prevent retribution, but it would grant her a short reprieve.  David liked to interrogate Gabriel for Biblical background, and the archangel’s total narcissism vanished when confronted with his true identity.

Gabriel gestured an emphatic message that Jo slyly rejected behind their minister’s back.

“I saw that, Joanna Beth.”

Jo did not jump or start guiltily.  She’d been caught too many times for that and for much worse.  Gabriel, on the other hand, almost disappeared completely.  When he turned to follow Jo’s gaze, it was with badly concealed irritation.

Ellen was not cowed—had never been cowed—but there was something to her mother’s resolve that Jo treasured, brought out by the preteen standing at Ellen’s side.  Ellen dropped a hand on the boy’s shoulder and indicated them in turn.  “Jesse, this is my daughter Jo, Adam, and our Pastor David.  I believe you’ve already met Chuckles over there,” Ellen finished dryly.  “And this,” She dropped her other hand to the boy’s other shoulder to make her claim, “Is Jesse.  He’s gonna be staying here for awhile.”

Jo decided that she’d always wanted a little brother, and ruffled the boy’s hair as she moved past him to use her mother as a shield.  After all, Jesse would make awesome cannon fodder.

* * *

Jesse had changed his mind about surfing, and was now considering a career goal of nearly-starving artist.  This meant afterschool art lessons with historic individuals like Leonardo da Vinci, which—for Jo—had moved past mind-blowing into the realm of more-boring-than-watching-paint-dry.

Still, Ellen couldn’t have been prouder than if Jesse had gone into medicine like Adam.  Surrounded as she was by all of the potential, hard work, and other scholarly behavior, even Jo ended up giving in to her mother’s demands and found herself back in college working on her own degree.

Mythology had always been an interest, and with the Trickster god of most religions as her personal tutor, Jo was certain that she could set the academic world on its head by graduation.

In any event, it wasn’t unusual for Gabriel to help Ellen in the late afternoon while Jo and Adam were bent over their respective textbooks, and Picasso lectured Jesse in the background.  It wasn’t even that unusual for the archangel to have brought some poor confused soul with him.

It’s just that . . . today, two wandered in on their own.

Jo didn’t know either of them at first, but she could recognize the signs of a vessel when she saw them.  Even if she couldn’t, the way Adam tensed beside her is a good indicator.

Adam was normally twitchy, and the Harvelles have learned his triggers and nightmares through six long months of experience.  The unreliability had been fully tested, and Adam had come through on his own merits.

It was Gabriel’s reaction that had Jo’s interest now.

Gabriel was loose-limbed and laughing, but always avoided contact with the taller of the pair—a man he introduced after a long moment as Nick.  And for all his joking, he couldn’t quite meet the other man’s (Chuck’s) eyes either.

She could place Chuck now, even though the Harvelle’s had never actually met the prophet who had sent them all on the mission that had ended in Carthage.  And the broken Nick?  Adam dragged Jo back in the kitchen while Ellen laid down the ground rules to inform her of the older man’s role as Lucifer’s vessel.

No one questioned Gabriel—not even Ellen.

Adam, however, was a wealth of information on the current status quo among archangels, and the secrets that Gabriel had kept from them.  Jo wasn’t even surprised that their resident archangel had died.  The majority of them had after all.

But it’s enough to make Jo wish that the newcomers won’t stay.

Maybe it makes her a terrible person, but she doesn’t want Gabriel to look at Nick every day.  She doesn’t even know the whole story behind Chuck, but she doesn’t want to know.  They’re intruders here, and Jo knows that her mother will feel the same.

Gabriel is their angel, and The Roadhouse is his sanctuary for the forgotten—for those who have done the right thing and been screwed over because of it.

Chuck and Nick have no place here as far as Jo is concerned.

* * *

Chuck takes Nick with him when he leaves.

They all breathe easier because of it.

Chuck had dispensed answers that no one had asked for.  He had explained Purgatory, brought up Kali, and confessed the plan for Castiel.  He apologized to Gabriel.

And if he hadn’t walked out afterwards, taking the helpless giant with him, Ellen probably would have kicked them out.

As it is, she has a drunken archangel on her hands.

So Ellen sent Jo and Adam to the movies with Jesse to keep the youngsters out from underfoot.  Then she rolled up her sleeves, accepted the bucket of water that Pastor David brought her, and upended it over Gabriel’s head.

It took a lot of yelling, but Ellen thought she had made her point.

Perhaps Gabriel was not as chosen as Castiel.  Perhaps Adam was only half a Winchester.  Perhaps Jesse had a demonic heritage, and Pastor David was led astray.  Perhaps Jo and Ellen were not the heroes that saved the world.  Perhaps they had all been as forgotten as Gabriel claimed.

They had been judged, and found wanting.

Until Gabriel came along.

The archangel didn’t have a good argument for that one.

* * *

It was a Friday.

Adam was mopping the floor, while Jo reset all of the high scores on the arcade games in the back.  Jesse was perched on the counter, chattering away to Ellen about his day at school and plans for the weekend.  Pastor David and Ellen were replacing a section of shelving that had been demolished in a hunters’ brawl the night before.

It was a Friday, and Purgatory was opened.

Gabriel appeared in the middle of the room.  His wings sent a sharp breeze through the bar rustling everything that wasn’t weighted down.  The archangel was windblown, still, and radiating a power that commanded silence.

“The Winchesters are in trouble.”

Adam found his voice first, and it was his opinion that mattered most.  Still, Jo hadn’t expected his terse demand.  “Then bring them here.”

Ellen nodded, coming out from behind the bar.  “Those are our boys.”

Jesse jumped down from the counter.  “We can help them.”

Pastor David nodded slowly, and it was on Jo now.

“That’s what family’s for,” Jo agreed.

So Gabriel snapped his fingers.


End file.
